As good as it gets
by skadalex
Summary: After his great love is gone, life for Misaki hasn't stopped, it must go on as good as it can get. This is not a sad story, because everybody deserves a second chance. And there is little Akihiko :-). A better summary is in the introduction I've updated.
1. Chapter 1 Prologue

Hello. This is a "what if" fiction. What if something happened to Akihiko (not that I wish him any bad luck) and Misaki would be left behind, alone? How would it change him? How would he, after the long years spent together with his lover, cope with his loss and further life, how would everybody around him cope with this? I thought it interesting to try and elaborate on that possibility a bit.

Misaki & Akihiko are my favourites in the manga, but I'm also fond of the other guys (and girls), unlucky with relationships in the original story. I've thought to give them some happiness here. I hope my baby fiction will find some fans between you despite a non-canon pairing/s; its storyline will go back and forth between present and the **_past eight_ _years_ **of Misaki's life and is told by Haruhiko who during those years tried again to win the boy over, and, despite all odds, build a working relationship between them. The prologue shows the outcome of his effort.

Warning: Not M-preg.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of them.

Thanks to CheyanneChika for help with English, I apologize if there are still any mistakes, they are my own.

* * *

**Prologue.**

(Present)

The morning in our bedroom has started much earlier than for other folks today usually would. Every weekend at this time it is the liveliest place in our house. Now please, don't jump into any naughty conclusions, we aren't up before the sun for _the reason_ you might like to think of. Yet, there is nothing I should complain about. It is all as I've ever wanted.

Cozy but still spacious, our favorite hideaway accommodates with ease what we like and what we need. There are books neatly ordered in the shelves, magazine collections stacked at the bottom of both bedside stands, while on the top, a few mangas are cramped with an alarm clock next to the one of the table lamps. Our yesterday clothes hang idly over the arms of the comfy chairs, and socks, they lay on the carpet, along with scattered children toys that take up a great part of the floor. The only space spared of this slight disarray is under the bed, large enough to fit us all.

Like a huge colorful roof, a picture book "How Stuff Works" hides Misaki's and little Akihiko's faces with perfectly focused countenances. Akihiko's latest morning routine, as much as he can keep it, is spying with his 'little eye' all over the various construction sites.

A four-year old has already started to read, but hardly anything is more enticing for him recently, than to challenge his papa, or himself, with some well hidden trifles between the mix of imposing construction machines and unfinished buildings.

I tilt my head in their direction, when all the sudden Akihiko shifts the book to the side, away from me, because right now Misaki is failing to find some forgotten water barrel. It reveals the silver locks and triumphant smile on my son's freckled face, appearance all due to my partner's very particular pick on a surrogate mother. Yet his eyes have an unmistakable amber shade, identical to mine.

The hardcover clamps down almost hitting Misaki's nose as he shuts me out from their game and I can only decipher his muffled warning,

"You are not helping!"

Somebody else is watching the entire scene with mild curiosity while comfortably sprawled across my chest. I try my best not to dislodge him with my movements, or bump his baby teeth against the glass bottle with milk, to which he returns his full attention after short and apparently unimportant distraction.

Sure, I'll be scolded later for letting him play with the dummy, but he is another of my little treasures, although not of my own creation. I can't deny him this short indulgence, as nothing compares to such peaceful moments that we have only occasionally throughout the week.

I play with his delicate toe and he happily lets me to do it, not as overly ticklish as his father, but, save for that, he is all Misaki. He is his small copy, toddling around the house.

And even though we've given the boy a different name, nobody calls him anything other than Little Misaki.

A tentative "Ohayo" coming from the entrance hall stops all activities in our private world. After the sounds of a few steps up the stairway, the strangely enthusiastic voice of my father continues, "Is there anybody up? I have special breakfast here in the basket!"

Akihiko freezes for a moment. He is probably trying to process in his little head the fact that the old man he usually meets during holidays and birthdays in restaurants, cafés, or in that awfully big house next door, is now in our hallway.

"Grandpa!?"

He springs from the bed to door, the book instantly forgotten; and is closely followed by his younger brother. Little Misaki, never giving up the bottle miraculously attached to his chubby fingers, has somehow maneuvered trough the blankets, pillows, and his father's legs to get down to the floor. Seeking the last reassuring look of approval from us, he trails after Akihiko.

"Slowly down the stairs!" Misaki calls after him for what feels like the millionth time.

Finally, we have our bed for ourselves. I don't mind my father, who was helping our relationship simply by ignoring us until now, to deliberately break into our house. Practically his too, since I've rebuilt the south wing of the Usami's residence into our current home.

No, I don't mind. As long as I can get a couple of solitary moments with my partner. However, the terms 'breaking in' and 'ignoring' are not entirely in order here, given the safety arrangements he has set from the day Akihiko was born, and due to which, hardly anybody was paranoid enough to check the front door twice before going to sleep. I might consider that option again.

As for my partner, taken aback as much as I, Misaki props on his elbows on the other side of suddenly enormous mattress and shoots at me one of his quizzical, almost interrogating stares.

"Don't look at me like that. You didn't believe it either when he suggested a family day out." I try to sound easy.

The two-week old idea of my father going for a weekend to his summer lodge to spend some quality time with 'his sons and grandsons' seems to me extremely surrealistic. Still, it was the first time he acknowledged Misaki as _his son_. Thus I'm willing to tolerate the proposal he is apparently serious about.

With a deep intake of air, my green-eyed devil would like to start one of his heated retorts or reprimands, which I deem at the moment appropriate to the situation, but…

"Ah, good grief! What…What has been your cleaning lady doing!?" The upset exclamation comes from the kitchen this time, where my old man probably squashed or tripped over something not in place. "You can borrow Yamato for the time being, until you find better one and…" The tirade of solutions is interrupted by Akihiko's chattering, in defense of our cleaner.

Misaki just throws the duvet over his head and, in one graceful fluid motion, slides down into the pillows; he is so…himself, still able to sulk like a teenage boy, while unable to become really angry.

I turn off the night lamp. The morning sun is already creeping in through the every nook and cranny in the light, summer curtains as I make my way to the greatest comfort I know. It is under his chin and over his chest where I can rest my head and hear the steady rhythm of the heart I hold so dear. I can smell that peculiar scent of his that drives my needs. At last, I hide in warm crook of his neck, shut the rest of the world down and place soft kisses into the crevice between his clavicle and shoulder. He wiggles a bit, ticklish creature, and I slide my arms, hungry for a touch, around him. Finally, my fingers crawl under his t-shit to draw patterns of our foreplay over the already heated skin.

I can't compare to the mastery of nonchalant seduction that my brother possessed. I'm nothing like him. Akihiko preferred evenings and nights while, not that I hate loving it, I love mornings. And Saturday morning is my favorite. It's a time to recharge, to pay attention to what I had not time for during the busy week.

"How is the cleaning lady?" My low whisper directly to his ear makes him shiver and snuggle more towards me; the blanket shifts protectively around us with his movements. I feel the tips of his fingers massaging my scalp gently.

"Tired… Hmm, you smell like milk and baby shampoo," he remarks fondly when his nose comes in contact with my hair, "Did you bathe with Little Misaki yesterday?"

"I tried to avoid that. Futilely. Then it was pointless, going to take shower in our bathroom when I was almost completely wet and covered in bubbles, so I just rinsed myself right there. But you like it, don't you?" I wink at him before resuming soft kisses all over his jaw or neck, and when I press myself demandingly against his thigh, a response cannot be long in coming.

"You're not serious?" The words spill out from his lips, not in a warning or rebuke, but in the simple question of amazement.

"And if I am?

I'm rewarded with a low choked chuckle vibrating from somewhere deep in his chest and title of baka, "Are you revolting against your father again?"

Misaki is not overly stressed out though, for we cultivate our full-scale battles into more or less reasonable arguments.

A lot of time has passed until I've learned, to a fair extent, where to yield and where to push with my old man. How far and with what force to negotiate a tender equilibrium between obligations to both of my families. Between what I must and what I want. Between my freedom and my duties.

"After all, he's your father not mine," MIsaki states, amusement twinkling in his eyes and in an instant he is on top of me, invading my mouth, full force, while he lines up our hips and grinds mercifully against my desire until I let out a desperate groan for more. He holds back nothing.

"You two." It must be coincidence; I doubt that my father could hear anything, but his challenging voice somehow penetrates through the haze of lust between us. "You two coming? Because, if you wish to stay, I can just take the boys."

Misaki springs upright with the shocked expression in his eyes. "Boys? What the…he cannot handle the children himself?!"

He couldn't even handle his own self. What the hell does he know about his grandsons, when he never knew anything about his own sons and had no intentions learning? Why a sudden want to babysit them?

I sit up panicking, shouting the answer in an effort to save our offspring. "In a minute! Just wait a bit downstairs! Don't rush us, father."

"In a minute?" Misaki looks a bit hurt as he quirks an eyebrow at me. "Are you sure you want to finish in a minute?"

"Well…in ten minutes," I correct myself, loud enough so my father can hear. "But we are going to finish it in shower," I add, only to Misaki, and grab his hand, dragging him hastily to the adjacent bathroom.

...

Breath still hitched, Misaki slides down from the perch on the shower wall designed solely for our pleasure. Holding onto my shoulders for support, he takes one last opportunity to pull me into the searing kiss before he lets me go, again without any reprimand for my perverted inspirations. His hand skims around my hairline and cheeks to trace away stray drops of hot water still on us. A tender, sheepish smile plays around the beautifully swollen lips "You know, you can be flushed from taking a shower, but not _that_ flushed."

I crush his lithe body in a heartfelt embrace, chanting my confession and statement of belonging to him into the damp tresses over and over. I don't care, I don't care… He can think it might be my continuing revolt. And he might be right.

Ever since I picked up the shattered pieces of a broken boy seven years ago, I didn't care about anything except making Misaki into a content young man by my side…as I believe he is now.

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What do you think? I hope it wasn't so sappy at the end (shall be more nostalgic next time). I kind of like the idea of Haruhiko making up for all the mishaps he did in manga; I believe he would be like that at the end, after he learned his lesson, if he was the one who got a chance with Misaki. Let me know your thoughts, please.

Advises & constructive critique are very welcome as I'm only learning.


	2. Chapter 2 Taking Chances

Thank you to everyone who read the story and especially thanks for letting me know what you think. Really appreciate that.

Dear Guest: I've revised the intro and summary more to the point so it should help to clear any confusion. Please check it. Yes, the guys have kids with the help of a surrogate mother/s. Little Akihiko is Haruhiko's four-year old son and Misaki's Little Misaki is a toddler, I haven't decided on how exactly old yet. This chapter will take you back to the start. (Haruhiko's POV.)

Warning: Character death - holding to the canon characters, I've realized, this was the only thing that can happen, which would leave Misaki in a situation where he is alone. Nothing in the world would part Akihiko from Misaki; that Akihiko smokes heavily in the manga and refuses to stop, just pushed my imagination. Gomen'nasai :(

**Taking chances.**

(Eight years ago)

"_There is no right or wrong way to grieve."_

Rain. It constantly drummed against the fabric of the umbrella over my head, trying to drown out turbulence of angry thoughts shouted over and over in my mind. I wanted to free them, here and now, which was both, absolutely justified and completely unacceptable given the situation.

Once again I was pondering whether my father was still scared to face the harsh reality, or simply, he was true to his tradition of never sparing time for his offspring, not even to pay his respects to the deceased one. With an excuse of a meeting, my old man had dispatched me, armed with an expensive bucket and a couple of candles, to this Christian graveyard—the last resting place of his younger son. Today would be his thirty-sixth birthday.

Strangely, I had never linked my brother to Christianity due to the flamboyant life he had led, conveniently forgetting his origins and obligations. But these days, Akihiko seemed to me like a departed son of the Christian God, leaving only the flood of sorrow and emptiness behind, as if he had taken all the warmth and love of his faithful ones with him. I, the unworthy child, was left with nothing, clinging only to an uncertain hope that one day, maybe one day, all will change.

But today, I came to tell him, to complain, to pour my bitterness out, to ask why, why is it that I'm still, deprived of affection from my father, who didn't show any sentiment for me anymore, and choking on my uncalled-for feelings with nobody to share them with. Maybe here I would settle all those frightening emotions, ranging from depression to guilt to anger that engulfed us both, after Akihiko had died.

I stumbled over narrow grave ledges—they are so close to each other—taken aback by the beautiful architecture of the old shrine. I never considered tombs to be objects of admiration. So magnificent and peaceful, their presence had its magic, creating a perfect refuge for the solitary soul to meditate. Apparently, I was not alone with this idea. A few meters further, hidden from the sudden May rainstorm, a lonely figure sat under the thick crown of an oak tree.

I gently set aside my gift beside a dark green granite platform, fumbling with the umbrella, which now became useless as rain quickly exhausted itself. The built-in vases were full of fresh flowers and my roses would dry out soon if I didn't find any container to keep them in. I turned around to look for the closest fountain, but my sight rested upon an onlooker, whose eyes matched the color of the polished stone.

"Misaki?" My question sprang not from the surprise at his presence here but from the concern for the state he was in. I examined his face instinctively, finding no sign of red rimmed eyes or crestfallen expression. Instead, I found a strange, reconciled peace in his features. I've been seeing the same mask of denial falling over my father's face every day for more than a year.

The same time had passed since I'd met the boy last and months since I'd heard from him. Misaki had inherited everything of Akihiko's while I had been given a letter from my brother, bidding me to an obligation I failed to fulfil.

During that period of our lives, filled with sorrow and confusion, I'd felt, there was little I could do to make things better for his lover. The only way I could have thought of how to ease Misaki's loss was the most convenient for me and the most insensitive in general: with money he hadn't even needed. I had set up an account for the penthouse expenses, so Misaki could keep his newly acquired possession and continue living in there without worries, only to find out that Akihiko had already taken care of it.

I had also overseen the transfer of Akihiko's assets left after his mother and grandfather, including the one-third of Usami's residence, to Misaki's ownership. The process, which involved our family lawyer, went smoothly since my father didn't have any objections. In fact, lately, he wasn't interested in anything else regarding me than my performance in the Usami Corporation. There, he held to his high expectations. Often I was wondering whether he would keep me by his side if he had no use of me in his business plans.

When the transaction documents had been ready for Misaki's signature, I sent him the paperwork, but the package came back labeled as "Recipient not found". I learned that Misaki had moved out from the penthouse, had moved from his old workplace, it seemed, as if he had moved away from his past. Later on, I received a notification about a new account, money from the penthouse he had sold. No return address, no telephone number was attached and, I let it go, stopping my search for him all together. For that once, I could understand Misaki, because I needed to spend, some time in solitude as well, though in my case, I had never fully identified had it been only my feeble excuse driven by the fear that he would have rejected my compassion?

"Ohayo. It's very kind of you to bring these." He greeted me and nodded toward the flowers. "It's nice to see you again," he added with the smile hiding so much sadness, I thought my heart would break into pieces.

I averted my eyes and turned toward the grave. That vast devotion…Forgotten, stayed my selfish issues, as I almost cursed Akihiko all over again, now, for not staying alive, not staying here and living for this unselfish being, who loved and cared for him steadily through his life and beyond, who refused to focus on anybody else. The boy, to whom I could not be of any help, because I was not the chosen one, was standing there, hurting and I felt useless. He was the boy I had loved almost for a decade and I could not take away his pain.

_I still love you._

"Yes, sure…"penetrated my train of thoughts and came out my mouth.

…What?! Did I express myself verbally? I must have babbled out my thoughts and, in the moment, my pulse started to quicken in horror as my brain tried to catch up with the situation.

"…fain, I can prepare something, take it as my apology for disappearing on you so suddenly. Anyway, it's good to cook for two in exchange," he finished and I, a master of improvisation, trained by countless business meetings, promptly fabricated an answer.

"Of course, that would be nice, whenever it suits you."

"Whenever?" Misaki's eyebrows shot up.

I nodded. "I'll try to adjust my schedule to that, deal? I flicked a false smile on while wondering what on earth I agreed to. "I'll give you my number."

* * *

And thus, we started regularly socializing. It was a fitting description for our every outing, either to dinner, movie, a concert or the combination of the three. We opted between homemade meals made by Misaki or offered by a family restaurants and peculiar cuisine of the, according to him, ritzy restaurants of my choosing. But that were the only places I knew.

For eight months, we exercised a simple rule of giving and taking between us and, although I couldn't take away the pain of his loss, I realized, I could just be there for him as long as he would feel comfortable with it. Then, somewhere along the way, the mutual need for solace and support had grown into an easy friendship. Misaki eventually loosened his inhibitions around me and I shed most of my scrupulous manners and suits, trading them for casual clothes.

Only that was not the case today.

I waited for him in an underground parking lot close to his new workplace, the Onodera Publishing sales department. At the time, Marukawa had become a very depressing place to work, full of the bittersweet memories, Misaki explained. In spite of this, he was still nurturing the hope that, someday, he would be able to go back.

Suddenly, the door to my car opened quite energetically from outside and the boy dropped to the passenger seat.

"Konbanwa! Where are we off to?" He twisted toward me, pulling his bag off his shoulder.

"To Ches."

"Ah… I should practice my table manners more," he mumbled unimpressed, as he settled back and adjusted his things around him.

"Thank you, I barely made it, I would look like an idiot in some pub in this." With a sigh marked by tiredness, I stuck out my arm, clad in expensive Armani. "We've signed a new contract today."

"Where does that leave me?"

Thankfully, the question came in a surprisingly mild tone, despite his protruding bottom lip. I was mentally exhausted from the negotiations; it didn't matter that I was familiar with the whole bag of tricks and had gone through the same procedure countless times; it always stressed me out and I was in no shape for a confrontation.

"I think you are dressed nicely but between the white collars there, you might look a bit off. Yet, I have a feeling that it won't bother you much, will it?" There was a truth in my statement; Misaki had learned at some point that constantly fretting about socially inappropriate appearances and troubles caused in that manner was not the key to happiness in any kind of relationship.

During the period of Akihiko's illness, especially its last phase, when home care was not an option anymore, Misaki was not able, not willing, to stay away from his lover's side, no matter the public opinion.

"If you want, we can stop by your apartment to pick a more formal outfit, but you look flawless to me," I stressed when he stayed oddly quiet.

"Ah, well…" He was no doubt happy for the gloomy parking lot that could overshadow the pink creeping to his face. "That's not what I meant. Shouldn't you be at a business dinner or something like that, while you're here?" He turned fully toward me with his unyielding, investigative gaze. "Haruhiko-san, how come… I mean, you never once excused yourself or postponed a set date?"

"I guess it's the matter of priorities." I smiled at his slight embarrassment. After he kept staring at me, searching for more, I continued, irrationally, "I love you, as a friend, as a companion, I value what we have between us; that makes it a priority. And also, my affectionate feelings toward you have never changed."

Sooner than my words reached my ears, my eyes noticed how Misaki sagged, backing into the seat.

"Don't get scared because I'm in love with you!" My rushed proclamation dumbfounded me for an instant.

How could I blabbed that out like some excited teenager?! There was something about Misaki that drove me, first to the most despicable, and then to the most foolish behavior I was capable of, when I was around him. And I doubt that I would tell a half of the sentimental things I told him to someone else, not even to someone expecting from me such confessions.

Yes, something deep in my core wanted Misaki to know the fact, but the majority of my brain screamed in panic, scared beyond the limit of losing the only relationship I maintained with him, even if it wasn't on a romantic bases. "I… You must understand, I'm…happy as it is, with what we have…" I trailed off, not knowing how to explain myself without frightening him off.

"I see," Misaki said, breaking the overwhelming silence in the car. "I like that you realize how heavy these words are and not just throw them carelessly around." He took shallow intake of air and combed his slender fingers nervously through his chocolate hair.

It was roughly the same length as it was, years ago, when he was just a teenager. I instinctively gripped the steering wheel, preparing myself for a yet another blow of dejection and tried to deduce his expression. Confusion, uneasiness, jitters?

"I'm not scared, exactly," he murmured. "I just don't know if I can say them and truly mean them. I don't know when I'll be ready to use them again. And I don't know if they'll ever carry the same depth as they did before." His voice descended. "But there must be something between us… isn't it?" The two green gems mirrored the mixture of uncertainty and hope from my eyes when he looked at me with anticipation.

"There is," I said breathlessly, because I, too, believed there _must be_ some way, a manner in which we could be together. Even if it's not perfect, we needed each other to live a happier life, if it only means to tend to each other wounds.

"Will it be enough?"

I bent forward on impulse, or in the heat of the moment, and placed my lips lightly over his, waiting, feeling a gentle, almost bashful pressure returned-my first kiss, not stolen from him. It indicated that I hadn't misread him moments ago.

Still conscious of my action, I pulled back and held up my breath. Our friendship was at stake.

"Aren't you hungry?" I asked when he said nothing. "I think we should go," I apprehensively started the engine, not even daring to glance in his direction, but when I did, the reality unfolded itself in form of an endearing smile, widespread on Misaki's face.

"Starving." Misaki straightened up, attaching his seat belt, then probably with intention of helping me to relax, he started to question me. "So, will you tell me about your dreadful meeting day? What big fish did you get this time?"

"Ah, Niponon Denshin, telecommunication division**.**"

"Really?! You're joking!" Misaki jumped in real surprise as the car moved forward.

"I'm not joking," a rather confident smirk tugged at my lips, "they're planning new head office and customer service buildings in Nagoya. Have you been to Nagoya?"

"No, is it a nice town? It's not far from Tokyo."

"You can see for yourself; I'm involved in design as well, it means more than a couple of trips there."

"Design?" His eyes sparkled with excitement. "That's what you've always wanted to do. But then you'll be so busy." His excitement quickly died and was replaced with an unknown emotion in his voice.

Was it worry?

"Yes," was all I could muster. I couldn't reassure him with a look or a smile, we were about to exit the parking lot, so at least I tried to sound convincing. "I'll be sure to make time to appreciate your excellent cooking."

His more cheerful spirit returned with a touch of practicality to it. "Of course. You shall have more nutritious food than take-outs you feed yourself with at work. But, I'm getting ahead of myself. It's not like you don't have a cook at home."

"Shall I use your kitchen more often then?"

"Sure." It was the enthusiastic acceptance that I was waiting for.

"By the way, as we speak about eating, if you're uncomfortable, I can still arrange for a private reception room."

"No, no need to go that far!" He smashed himself against the seatback, mortified.

As we pulled out in to the street, through the loud clamor of traffic and quiet purr of the car, I could still overhear his light grumble, "Oi Usamis," and I found myself besotted by him once again.

He made me happy.

* * *

Please let me know your thoughts. Like it or don't? I know Haruhiko is not very popular, but he is a lot like his brother and after Akihiko, I think Misaki can feel on a familial ground with him.


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